Pascal threw the cigarette butt down and stamped on it, then walked up the street towards the Boulevard des Capucines. He was moving at a brisk pace, and it looked as if he was going to catch a bus.
Etienne stayed well back, and when he saw Pascal join others waiting at a bus stop, he hailed a fiacre and told the driver to wait until the bus came, then follow it until he told him to stop.
It was a fine, mild evening, the roads were busy with traffic and there were moments when Etienne feared the cab driver would lose the bus for carts and carriages kept getting in the way. But as they approached the Gare du Nord, he saw Pascal get off the bus. For a moment he thought he was going into the station to catch a train, and cursed, for that would make it hard to follow him, but as Etienne stopped the cab and paid the driver, he saw Pascal was walking up Boulevard Magenta in the direction of Garrow’s, the undertaker.
He didn’t go that far though. Instead he turned into a left-hand side street, then turned right again. Etienne stayed just twenty yards behind him and fortunately there were enough people out and about for Pascal not to notice he was being followed. They were in a narrow street of tall houses which were probably all apartments, and Pascal went right to the end before disappearing into one.
Etienne waited a moment or two, then slipped into the hallway. It was like a thousand other apartment houses in Paris, gloomy, reeking of stale cooking smells, with a tiled floor, grubby-looking walls, and a winding staircase going up the six floors at the back. Beneath the staircase there were a couple of bicycles.
Twelve post boxes hung in the hall, and Pascal’s name was on number four, proof that this was where he lived. Etienne supposed that as there were two apartments on each floor Pascal’s was on the first.
Somewhat disappointed, Etienne jotted down the address on a scrap of paper and put it in his wallet. He had expected the man to be living somewhere fancier as he had been making so much out of Belle.
He waited a little further down the street until after nine o’clock, and as Pascal didn’t reappear, it seemed likely that he was in for the night. As Etienne turned to go back down the street he decided to go to Philippe’s restaurant and pay another fiacre to go and collect Noah so that the evening wouldn’t be entirely wasted.
Philippe Le Brun greeted Etienne warmly at Le Petit Poulet. It was a traditional Parisian restaurant, long and narrow, and it was packed with diners. But Philippe led him to a table he had kept free and was pleased to hear that Noah would be joining them shortly.
‘So did you manage to contact Pascal this afternoon and ask him if you could meet Belle again?’ Etienne asked the moment they were seated.
‘I did indeed, and he looked furtive,’ Philippe smirked. ‘I mean, more so than usual. He responded just how I’d expected, saying I was to leave it with him to contact her. Then I said I didn’t know how he was going to do that because I’d already called at the hotel she lived in and her landlady said she’d been gone for a few days.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘He was visibly thrown; asked how I knew where she lived. I said that the last time I was with her I took her home.’
‘And?’ Etienne asked.
Philippe chuckled. ‘That shook him. But I’m not sure whether it was because I knew she was missing, or because he couldn’t imagine any man treating a whore like a lady. Maybe it occurred to him that he could easily find himself cut out as the middle man if men took the girls home.’
‘What then?’
‘Well, whatever was on his mind, he blustered a bit, said, “You know how these girls are, probably met someone who has taken her away with him.” I pointed out it was odd she’d taken nothing with her, and that I was considering alerting the gendarmes in case of foul play. Well, that did it – his voice rose, his eyes flashed and he said that would look bad for me. I pointed out it would look bad for him too as I’d have to tell the gendarmes how I met her.’
He stopped talking to pour both himself and Etienne a glass of claret, swirling his in the glass and sniffing it appreciatively before taking a sip. ‘With that I turned and walked away. I thought it best to leave him to stew, not knowing what I was going to do.’
Etienne wished then that he hadn’t left his post by Pascal’s house. If the man had been panicked by Philippe, he might very well be rushing off now to tell whoever was in this with him that trouble was brewing for them.
Chapter Thirty-three
Belle could think of nothing but how thirsty she was. Each time she closed her eyes she saw water running from a tap and imagined cupping her hands and leaning forward to drink it. She tried to distract herself by thinking of Mog, but when she did Mog was holding the teapot, pouring tea into a cup.
A noise downstairs startled her out of it. She sat up to listen, sure she’d imagined the sound. But she hadn’t – someone was definitely down there. She was off the bed and over to the door in a second, her thirst forgotten, and she yelled and hammered on the door with her fists.
She paused to listen, and she could hear footsteps coming up the stairs and noticed there was a beam of light around the door which meant the electricity had been restored.
‘Help me!’ she yelled. ‘I’m in here!’
‘I know you are in there,’ Pascal’s all too familiar voice rang out. ‘Now, stand away from the door as I’m coming in with some food and drink.’
Relief washed over her and she spontaneously moved back, holding the remains of her torn bodice over her breasts. She heard the key turn in the lock, then, as the door opened slowly, much longed for light flooded into the room, making her blink. Pascal had a jug in his hand, and a bag hung over that arm, but in his other hand he held a knife.
‘Don’t be alarmed by the knife,’ he said, using it to switch on the room light. ‘I’ll only use it if you try anything.’
Belle’s eyes were on the jug, for now her thirst was greater than fear of a knife. ‘Where have you been?’ she gasped out. ‘Why did you leave me so long?’
He handed her the jug, then quickly locked the door behind him. Belle lifted the jug to her lips and drank deeply. Water had never tasted so good.
‘I hope by now you have decided you are going to be nice to me,’ he said.
Her thirst quenched, Belle put the jug down on the washstand. ‘I’ll do anything you say, but don’t leave me locked up in here any longer,’ she said.
‘Sit down and eat this,’ he said, holding out the bag.
Belle snatched it. Inside was a chunk of bread with some cheese. The bread was stale, the small piece of cheese very hard, but that didn’t matter, she tore at it with her teeth, gulping it down so fast she couldn’t even taste it.
Pascal stood watching her. She glanced up at him a couple of times and he was smirking.
‘Thank you,’ she said, once the last crumb was gone. ‘I thought you were never coming back.’
‘I had to teach you to have some respect for me,’ he said with a hint of menace. ‘But I’m sure now you know what I can do to you, everything will be different.’
With her thirst gone and hunger partially sated, Belle’s wits came back to her. ‘What do you want of me?’
‘I want your love,’ he said.
Belle’s heart sank. She looked into his eyes and instead of the cold, dead look she’d noticed the first time she met him, she saw the same kind of madness she’d seen in Faldo’s eyes that last night with him. She hadn’t handled Faldo very well, even though she had felt some affection for him, but she loathed Pascal and the thought of him touching her again made her flesh crawl.
‘It takes time and patience for love to grow,’ she said carefully, very aware now of the knife in his hand. It was only six inches long, with a thin blade, but it looked very sharp. ‘Locking me up without food or drink isn’t the way to make love happen.’
‘In that case I’ll settle for the pretend love you show your clients,’ he said, licking his lips lasciviously as he stared at her.
She had been so intent on drinking and eating that she’d forgotten about her ripped dress and her exposed breasts. A cold shudder went down her spine and she tried to cover herself.
‘There’s no need to cover them up,’ he said. ‘I like looking at them. And I know how passionate you are with your clients. Many of them reported back to me.’
Just his oily voice, let alone what he was saying, was enough for her stomach to churn. She couldn’t do it with him, she couldn’t bear it.
‘But you don’t want me like this,’ she said, backing away from him in horror. ‘I’m dirty – let me have a wash and some clean clothes first.’
‘I don’t mind you dirty,’ he said, moving towards her and reaching out to touch her right breast. ‘It’s a reminder that you are a whore, and besides, the smell on you is from the last time I had you. I like that.’
Belle’s stomach lurched. She had always found it so easy to flirt with her clients, and to say flattering things to them to put them at their ease, even when she didn’t like them. But Pascal was so deeply repulsive to her that she couldn’t even attempt to switch on those well-practised lines, not even now when she knew her life depended on being what he wanted her to be.
‘Take off your clothes,’ he said when she made no response. ‘Every stitch. I want to see you naked.’
She felt the way she had with that first man at Madame Sondheim’s, stark, cold terror washing over her. But he was brandishing the knife and instinct told her he wouldn’t hesitate to cut her.
Reluctantly she began to strip. Her dress was so damaged that it slid to the floor easily. She untied the waist of her petticoat and let that drop too till she was standing in just her chemise. He’d ripped off her drawers downstairs, days ago, and she’d taken off her stockings soon after she was locked in. She really couldn’t bear to take off the last garment, even though it was so torn it didn’t cover much.
‘And that,’ he said, and stepped forward, putting the knife against the shoulder straps and cutting first one, then the other, in two quick movements. The chemise fell to the floor.
‘On the bed,’ he said, and still holding the knife in his hand, he pulled off his jacket, tossed it to one side, flicked his braces off his shoulders and began unbuttoning his trousers.
There was nothing she could do but comply. His trousers were around his feet now, his shirt nearly reaching his bony knees, and his black socks were held up with suspenders. He took his cock in his hand to fondle it, while looking down at her. But as he was still holding the knife in his free hand she knew she couldn’t escape what he wanted to do to her, and so she had to get it over with as quickly as possible.
‘Come and let me hold you,’ she said, trying to sound seductive, but she could hear the desperation and loathing in her voice and felt certain he could too.
‘Open your legs. Show yourself to me,’ he demanded, and leaned down and put the tip of his knife on her pubic hair.
Tears started up in her eyes. She’d been told by one of the girls at Martha’s about a girl in another sporting house who had her belly ripped open by a man and she was afraid that was what Pascal intended to do.
She felt she had to do the lewd act he wanted, and held the lips of her vagina apart for him to see her.
‘Did you do that for Le Brun?’ he asked. ‘Is that why he wanted to see you again?’
Belle was confused by that question. Had Philippe really wanted to see her again and Pascal was jealous?
‘I don’t remember,’ she whimpered.
‘Yes, you do. He liked fucking you so much he went to find you in your hotel.’
That was even stranger. She hadn’t told Philippe where she lived.
‘I told him you’d gone away with a man. He didn’t like that. Rich, powerful men like him are used to having everything their way. But you’re mine now. No one else will ever have you, and I’m going to mark you to remind you that you are mine.’
He slid the knife up her belly, piercing the skin. Belle looked down and saw the thin red line of blood appearing from her pubic hair to her navel and all at once the room seemed to swirl around and grow dark.
‘There’s little point in rushing back there now,’ Philippe said calmly. ‘If Pascal has gone out you’ll just have a wasted journey, and anyway, wouldn’t he have gone wherever he had to on his way home from work if he was that panicked?’
‘I suppose so,’ Etienne replied and allowed Philippe to pour him a second glass of wine. He glanced up and saw Noah coming into the restaurant, grinning broadly as he made his way through the diners.
Pulling out a chair, Noah sat down and beamed at the two other men. ‘I’ve got some information,’ he said.
As he began to talk excitedly about what he’d found out at
Le Petit Journal
during the afternoon neither Etienne nor Philippe could understand what he was trying to tell them. He was speaking so fast, using people’s names they didn’t know and making references to a newspaper article without telling them what it was about.
‘We aren’t following this at all. Calm down and tell us what you’ve found,’ Etienne said reprovingly and poured him a glass of wine.
Noah blushed furiously. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting and waiting back at the Mirabeau, dying to tell you what I’d found,’ he said by way of explanation, and drank half the glass of wine in one gulp.
‘You see, I wasn’t getting anywhere much until I mentioned to the editor that Pascal had been an undertaker and I thought he was still Garrow’s partner,’ he said, speaking more slowly. ‘Then suddenly he remembered a story about two undertakers being arrested for brawling in the street. He said everyone thought it funny at the time as no one expects sombre undertakers to fight.’
‘It was them? Pascal and Garrow?’ Etienne asked.
‘Yes, well, he had to look it up to check the names, but it was them. It happened three years ago. They were let off with a warning, but one of the journalists followed it up because he was curious about why they were fighting. It seemed it was over an old woman who had died and left a house to Pascal. It transpired that Garrow was livid because he’d looked after her, going round to her and doing little jobs, and his wife did her laundry. But Pascal had done nothing more than call on her occasionally with the odd bunch of flowers. He accused Pascal of tricking her into changing her will in his favour and he said he should sell the house and share the proceeds with him.’
‘But he wouldn’t?’ Philippe asked.
‘No, he refused point blank, and that appears to be why Pascal left the business and went to work at the Ritz, because of the bad feeling between them.’
‘So where is this house?’ Etienne asked.
‘In Montmartre.’ Noah passed a piece of paper with the address on to Etienne. ‘So now we know where he lives. If my partner and brother-in-law came by a house like that and moved into it, leaving me to run the business alone, I think I’d be pretty damn angry about it too.’
‘But he doesn’t live there.’ Etienne frowned. ‘I followed him home today and he lives in an apartment house in a street off Boulevard Magenta.’
Noah looked puzzled. ‘Really? But I got someone to check up if he still owned it, and he does. Why wouldn’t he live in it?’
Philippe took the piece of paper and looked at the address. ‘I know this street, they are big, fairly new houses. He’s probably rented it out.’
Etienne leapt to his feet. ‘I’m going to go round there now to see.’
‘But I was just going to order us all some dinner,’ Philippe said, looking askance at him. ‘Leave it till tomorrow?’
‘You two stay and order,’ Etienne said hurriedly. ‘I must go and check it out.’
He left so fast the other two men looked at each other in astonishment. ‘Was it really that urgent?’ Noah asked.
Philippe grinned sympathetically at him. ‘He nearly ran out of here ten minutes before you came, when I told him about the run in I had today with Pascal. Let me tell you about that.’
Etienne looked up at the six-storey building in rue Tholoze reflectively. It was an attractive and well-proportioned house, probably only built in the last twenty years, and though the gas street lights weren’t bright enough to see very clearly it looked as if it was in very good condition. All the rooms were in darkness except for a faint glow in the fanlight window above the front door. In his experience that meant the residents were out for the evening and had left just one light on in the hall to see their way in later.
He was curious as to why Pascal hadn’t moved in there. Anyone would prefer to live here rather than the dingy street his apartment was in. If Etienne was left a house like this he would have kept the ground floor for himself and let the upper rooms. Rents in Montmartre were high now, the days when it was home to struggling artists were long gone – they’d all moved to Montparnasse where it was a great deal cheaper.
Not wishing to go back to Philippe and Noah without some information to make his hurried departure from the restaurant look vital, he went to the neighbouring house and knocked on the door. A man of about sixty with a thick mane of white hair opened it and Etienne apologized for disturbing him. ‘I’ve been trying to contact the owner of next door, Monsieur Pascal,’ he said. ‘I heard he had rooms to let.’
‘Not him, he won’t let it out to anyone,’ the man said curtly.
‘Really?’ Etienne exclaimed. ‘I was told he was anxious to let out some rooms.’
‘Whoever told you that doesn’t know the man. People are always asking for a room, but he won’t let them have one. Always seemed crazy to me because he’s hardly ever there.’
‘Is that so?’ Etienne exclaimed. ‘How odd to let a big house like that lie empty.’
‘The man is very odd. Comes for an hour and then he goes,’ the man said, and his tone suggested he had a grudge against Pascal.
‘I had heard he’s a difficult man,’ Etienne said in his most solicitous tone. ‘I was warned he’s slippery too. Is that true?’
‘He certainly is. A jumped-up nobody who thinks he’s gentry now he’s got that place. And he got it under dubious circumstances!’
‘How was that?’
‘He tricked Madame Florette, the old lady who used to own it, into making him her heir. Absolutely disgraceful! She had two nephews who should have got it.’
Etienne was delighted that anger was making the man so indiscreet. ‘But it makes no sense not to make money out of it. Would you know when he was last here?’
‘The Thursday after Easter. I remember very well because I was so angry that his overgrown garden was invading my small yard. I saw him walk past my window and I ran out to have it out with him.’
Etienne’s heart leapt, for that was the day Belle disappeared. It could just be coincidence of course, but he knew he must get in to the house and look around. ‘The Thursday, that would be the eleventh. Are you absolutely sure?’